One for Sorrow
by LeonaWriter
Summary: A suicidal Martin causes Douglas to let slip something that he would never normally have done.  Now the two things have changed the way they see each other, whether they like it or not.  Non-slash.
1. One for Sorrow

**AN: Trigger warning - attempted suicide in first chapter.**

They say your life is supposed to flash before your eyes in the moments before your death.

Right now, Martin was both doubting the old myth and wondering if there was possibly something _else_ wrong with him that he didn't already know about. If there was then it could hardly take away from his resolve. Or lack thereof.

Because right now, Martin was leaning against the railings of Bristol bridge - not the big suspension one, though, the one in the city, which was easier to get to. Only a fifteen minute walk from the not-very-nice hotel Carolyn had booked for them this time and the argument he'd walked away from. Hopefully, it was high enough to do the job.

The wind was nice, and he leaned into it, closing his eyes. So far, he wasn't doing anything that anyone would stop and stare or look twice about. Just feeling the wind, and thinking about how it reminded him of when he was younger, much younger, really, when he'd do the same and hold out his arms and pretend he wasn't _just_ flying, that he _was_ the aeroplane, and gravity couldn't stop him or hold him back, and aeroplanes didn't have funny ear problems, either, and they helped people, by taking them places. Back then, he'd thought it'd be like an odd sort of piggyback, that he'd be able to perfect when he was older, maybe. Now, though, he knew better, but that didn't make the feeling any less special. Flying was just like falling, wasn't it, though? Except without the crash or the thud or the splat or the splash at the bottom, weightless and free.

And then before he knew it he was flying, and while for a moment it felt incredible, the then, with a crash, it was all over before it had even properly begun.

Maybe not high enough, after all.

Over the roar of the water in and around his ears - _oh god he didn't have his ear plugs in_ - he half remembered, half heard a voice, which might have been calling out his name, but it was lost in the rush of water, and a heady feeling of _I'm going to die_ and _it doesn't matter whose voice it was if I'm going to die here, drowning in a river_.

But then there was a splash, and the water, which had already been trying to push him down even further, started eddying around him, and his head started to spin. Funnily enough, it wasn't the fact that he'd just jumped off a bridge that made him want to start fighting to stay alive, but the instinct caused by the knowledge that he was about to black out due to his inner ear problem. He really ought to have thought this through a little better. His gasp for air had just caused him to swallow in a mouthful of water, which was hardly the cleanest, either.

Something started to grab at him, and he tried to fight back before realising that it was a hand, not some strange river-creature or fish he'd never heard of. Someone's hand, then, reaching out to grab a hold on his arm. Which it - they - did, pulling him toward them and toward the surface.

_Oh, god_, he found himself thinking. _I hope it's a stranger. Please god let it be someone I don't know_.

"Martin? Martin! No, stay with me, Martin." Oh. Douglas. Right. The fuselage. But his eyes were rolling back no matter how hard he tried to stay conscious, and he almost felt guilty for the impending dead (ha ha) weight that he was about to become. "Damn it all, I'm not about to lose you again...!"

..._Again?_

_...Why... again?_

But before he could ask, the world went dark.

….

AN: TT_TT

Oh, _Martin_…. *ahem*. Um. Please, please forgive the author for the sheer amount of angst in this fic, and if anything's been done _wrong_. But someone caught my eye with the idea of Martin and the bridge, and… I had this idea. And unlike some ideas of a similar sort, I simply _had_ to take this one somewhere.

This is NOT all that there is. Not by far. I simply can't continue it right now, but will… tomorrow? It's late…. ;u;


	2. Two for Joy

Two for Joy

...

The next thing Martin knew was that he was suddenly conscious, although it was still dark. That, though, was not to do with his health - he did admittedly feel weak and wobbly all over, and his chest hurt, and he was cold, so cold and wet and shivering -but no, the dark was just because it was late.

Late and dark but there was enough light from the street lights to be able to see Douglas sat down on the pavement only a few feet away, also dripping wet and looking as cold as Martin felt. Which was, Martin had to admit, all his fault.

"Martin." Martin didn't look up far enough to look him in the eye. Douglas was going to say something, like 'why were you so stupid', or... or something really clever. That Martin couldn't think of, because his body picked that moment to shiver, from top to bottom, leaving his teeth chattering. "Martin, I'm sorry."

...Oh. That, he hadn't expected. One of those rare times when Douglas didn't actually act much like Douglas, then.

He still didn't turn around or look up, though. He much preferred hugging his also wet knees and pretending he hadn't heard.

"You should know that I didn't actually mean what I said back there. Neither did Carolyn, I think. Martin, look at me."

Martin looked up, but not because he'd been told to. There was something about Douglas' voice that simply made him flinch, and he was pretty sure that it had never been there before. He couldn't quite figure out what it was, though.

He wasn't quite sure that he wanted to face up to it yet, either. Instead, he stared vaguely in the distance in the direction of somewhere over and to the side of Douglas' shoulder.

"Why... were you," he started, teeth chattering making it difficult to get his words out, "I mean... did you _follow_ me?"

"Believe it or not, yes. You really weren't that hard to follow, Martin." There was a short pause. A sigh. "For once, I'm glad that there was something you were absolutely awful at."

Martin cracked a watery smile, which didn't entirely reach his eyes. Despite himself, he started to laugh, a sound that could have quite easily been mistaken for crying. Right at that moment, the two weren't really that far off.

"Martin..." Douglas sounded worried. Martin wasn't sure if that was because of the fact that he'd just had to drag his captain out of a river, or the not-all right way that said captain was now laughing. He stood up with an 'oof', and stepped a little closer, holding out a hand. "Can you stand yet?"

Martin considered this, which would have normally been a ridiculous question, yet now had a certain amount of significance. In the end, he nodded rather than explain that he still felt wobbly but really felt like he needed to move. He could still hear the river, and he shivered again, unsure what had caused it.

He took the hand, though. The actual _standing_ part might have caused problems, otherwise.

Douglas steadied him with an arm around his waist anyway, keeping him properly upright. He didn't say anything, though, and for that, Martin was grateful.

They started walking, not saying anything, and after a while Martin's legs started to not feel so much like jelly with rocks in as they had been. He wormed his way free of Douglas' arm, but somehow the taller, older man still managed to keep a grip on him, much to Martin's mortification. He _could_ walk, thank you very much. He could walk, so he didn't need anyone to hold his hand or keep him from falling like he'd forgotten how, and he definitely didn't need the way how Douglas being close like that kept him from shivering just a little bit more than he maybe would have done otherwise.

He scowled, blushing from the embarrassment he knew it would mean from now on. He'd never be able to forget it, never be able to live it down... he'd always be the pilot who couldn't even kill himself properly, still stuck in the same place and unable to leave because really, where else would he, could he, go?

"Martin?" There was that odd concerned tone again. "Are you all right? You look a little red in the face-"

"I'm _fine_."

No, he wasn't. But that wasn't the point right now, really. It really wasn't, and he wanted to talk about something other than _him_.

"No need to snap, Martin. I'm only concerned that you might have caught something or come down with a fever."

Oh. Well, he still didn't want that concern right now.

Frowning, he fished around for something to say that would both fill the silence - still a short way away from the hotel, and if things weren't awkward enough already, they were definitely going to be when they reached there - and stop Douglas from prying again.

"Well, I haven't. At least- I don't think so. But... Douglas?"

Douglas inclined his head down slightly and to one side, to better look at his superior officer's expression. No mean feat when it was already very dark.

"Hm, what is it?"

"Why... back there. Then. In the water. Why did you say 'again'? I've never..." He trailed off. Not sure how he was supposed to end that in a way that wasn't so blunt that he'd be forced to face up to it. "Never done this before. So. Why."

Douglas stumbled. This was notable for two reasons - one, was that Douglas hardly ever got caught out by anything, and two, Douglas' legs weren't giving way on him. Not that Martin's were. But Douglas hadn't blacked out.

"I thought you were out by that point."

Quiet, serious... resigned? Martin must have hit his head as well as everything else, because none of this was making much sense tonight. Anything, really.

"Well... no. Not quite. Hearing's the last to go, and all that..."

"Of course," Douglas replied dryly. "How could I forget." He wasn't answering, though.

Which only made Martin more curious.

"Really, though? Why?"

"Martin, we're nearly back at the hotel. Do you really want me to be explaining away a slip of the tongue as we go in there? No? I didn't think so. Now come on. We both need to get dried up before we can sleep for tomorrow - especially you. And if you're not decent to fly, then Carolyn's going to skin us both."

The receptionist at the hotel was remarkably all right about letting the two drenched, still dripping men through the lobby and to the room they were having to share - part of the reason Martin had left the hotel entirely in the first place, not wanting to go back to that when he knew Douglas was sharing it - even if it did mean the carpets were now covered in a trail of river water.

Thankfully, there were enough towels to let them dry themselves off, but even though Martin took the bed (Carolyn could only afford one) it took him a long, long time before he could sleep at all, hair still somewhat damp and his mind throwing back images and feelings of being under the water still, and this time no one was there.

Each time he woke up, Douglas would be there, sitting opposite in an uncomfortable-looking chair, staring. As though he couldn't sleep much, either. Making sure that Martin was still there. After a while, though, Martin rolled over, not wanting to see the haunted look in his first officer's eyes each time his own opened any more.

...

AN: I DID IT. Um.

The chapter was actually rather hard to write. Especially the first bits. I'm worried that the quality's not as good as the first chapter, but... here it is. Finished, more or less.

And there is a reason for the title; it doesn't seem very joyous, does it? But 'joy' doesn't have the same meaning as 'happy'. 'Happy is when something suddenly or out of the blue makes you smile or laugh, and is in the moment. 'Joy' lasts a lot longer, and although it's not obvious here, I'd imagine it's lying in wait, under the surface. He's _still alive_. Martin could have died, but he didn't. And that's something worth being happy about.


	3. Three for a Girl

Three for a Girl

...

Martin was woken up in the morning by a pounding at the door of the hotel room, a familiar sound closely followed by Carolyn shouting at he and Douglas to wake up. That it was late, and she didn't pay them to be lazy.

Shortly afterwards, there was a thump as one could audibly hear Arthur literally rolling out of bed. Martin groaned as he fought his way out of murky sleep which hadn't actually done him much good at all, and into the even harsher reality of the real world.

His head was pounding and he had the distinct impression that, regardless of having packed a perfectly serviceable pair of pyjamas for exactly this reason, he'd slept in the still sort-of-damp clothes he'd come back in, which hadn't dried properly. And, of course, his hair wasn't much better.

Head in his hands, he sighed. When he looked back up, he realised that Douglas was no longer in the uncomfortable chair he'd been in last night, and blinked. Further inspection of the room indicated that his First Officer had not, in fact, suddenly left, or woken up and got himself dressed before Martin had even opened his eyes, but was currently in the shower, getting changed.

His uniform was still hanging from the wardrobe, which had been left hanging open, and his eyes were drawn to it fatalistically. How could he have been so stupid? _Stupid, stupid_, _stupid_. He loved flying. And his uniform did have four stripes on it, whether or not anyone actually noticed. And-

Douglas came back out before he could finish putting his thoughts back together, looking only a little better than Martin felt - and that was saying something, given the situation. Seemed like Douglas hadn't slept much, if at all - no, he had to have, at least a bit, otherwise Carolyn would have two pilots more or less unfit to fly, and they wouldn't be able to take off to get back to Fitton, and one of them would have to explain _why_.

"Shower's free," Douglas said in a way that Martin supposed was meant to be offhand, but instead came off as edgy. "Try not to take too long, will you?"

Martin flinched, got out from under the covers, and walked past to the shower without making eye contact, knowing that Douglas would be out and gone by the time he was done no matter how fast he was.

The hot water rushing at his bare skin was at the same time refreshing and horrifyingly quick to bring the previous night back to the fore of his mind.

But it was hot, whereas the river had been bone-cold, and this was raining down on him where the river had enveloped him and pressed down on him, dragging him under-

"Martin?"

He was in control. He was. He told Douglas to go away. _Please_.

He finished with the shower as fast as he could, doing his best to think of nothing at all, anything other than water.

Douglas, it turned out, hadn't gone away, and was pretending to gather up their things, which Martin was fairly sure could have been done in far less time. His first officer didn't say a word about it, though, just looked at him, still with that worried look, and left, saying that they'd be waiting for him downstairs, and warned that Arthur was being inconsiderately cheerful this fine morning.

An hour later, and the atmosphere was almost unbearably tense in the flight deck. Douglas hadn't said a word to Carolyn, but Martin kept expecting for something acerbic to come out, or for her to have somehow figured something out. The only one he wasn't actually worried about was Arthur, and even then, it was hardly as though he wanted Arthur to _find out_.

So far the only words he and Douglas had exchanged had been to do with flying GERTI. Martin breathed out heavily. He didn't like it. Flying wasn't supposed to be like this.

"...Douglas?"

"Hm?"

"I... I wanted to say thank you. I don't think I did before, so-"

"Martin, think nothing of it. Apart, perhaps, from how much you had me worried. Don't do it again, and I think we can call it even, wouldn't you say?"

Martin nodded quickly, both touched and made awkward by Douglas' concern.

"Promise me, Martin."

"Fine! Fine, I promise, okay?" He hoped this wasn't going to become a thing. He could feel himself reddening already, face clashing with his hair like a neon sign broadcasting his discomfort. "Happy now?"

Martin heard Douglas let out a breath of relief, and figured that maybe he could start to relax.

"...Yes, actually."

"Oh. Right. Good. I mean, you really-"

The door opened, and Arthur stepped through from the galley, bearing two steaming mugs of coffee.

"Really what, Skip?"

Martin's mouth opened, and then closed. His mind had gone blank.

"Drat," said Douglas. It was a tone of voice Martin easily recognised as his first officer about to tell some ludicrously blatant lie to an unsuspecting Arthur, who wouldn't know any better. It was generally harmless enough, though. "I think Martin just won first pick at the cheese tray. Oh, well. There's always next time. And the time after that."

"Wow! That's great, Skip! You haven't won that in, uh, well. A long time!"

Stuck between wanting to ask Douglas what he thought he was doing and not wanting to let on that he didn't know what Douglas was going on about, Martin just nodded and took his coffee, trying to look as pleased with himself as he would have been if that had actually happened. The moment Arthur was back out with the passengers, he turned on Douglas.

"And what was that?"

"I appear to have just given you first pick at the cheese tray."

"But _why_?"

"After the last twelve hours or so," Douglas said with a faintly amused roll of his eyes at _something_, "I wouldn't say that 'why' is a question you should be asking, for once."

"But- but- but-"

"Martin, are you _really_ that hung up about this?"

Martin's mouth closed. It wasn't exactly just the cheese tray. There were a lot of things that didn't make sense right now, and he wished they would. There was even a faint headachy pounding in his head from not sleeping well – and sleeping in wet clothes, for that matter - that made everything even worse.

"You could at least finish the coffee before it goes cold. It's bad enough as it is, without you acting like staring into its depths will answer all of life's questions, you know."

Martin had some more of the coffee, caught himself doing so, and scowled in Douglas' direction.

"I don't need to be looked after, Douglas. Just because- I _can_ look after myself."

"Of course you can." He wasn't meeting Martin's eyes, though, leaving him sure that Douglas was having him on. "But everyone has off days. Yours are just more spectacularly so than most, that's all."

"Thanks. I think. I'm not sure if that was meant to reassure me or not."

"Hm." The sound was just as indeterminate as to whether Douglas meant that it was, or it wasn't. "You know, Martin, you somewhat remind me of an old friend of mine."

"What? Really?"

"Mm. She was just as prissy and annoying when I knew her as you can be, sometimes. Funny, that."

"_Douglas_..."

"I kid you not. It might surprise you, but we actually got on quite well. For the most part."

Martin groaned. "Don't tell me, this is all some sort of Aesop over how I shouldn't believe the worst all the time, isn't it? Am I her? Is that it? Because if that's the case then I'm not listening."

"Martin." Douglas' tone was reproving and, weirdly enough, oddly cautious. "I knew her back when I was in medical school. That's quite a while ago. So no, this isn't just some story I'm making up to prove a point."

"Oh. God. I'm- sorry."

Now, he felt the fool.

"Don't be. I'd think that, if I were you. But that isn't the case, and anyway, where was I? Ah, yes. Well, we'd argue, and she'd show me up – yes, there was a time when that was possible," Douglas said before Martin could even open his mouth, and the idea itself made him crack his first smile since... oh, the previous day.

Then, something occurred to him, that made the smile fade.

"Martin?"

"Was that what you meant?" he asked, trying not to sound too invested in the answer and not knowing whether he'd be more disappointed if he got a 'yes' or 'no'. "Last night." He listened – Arthur was out talking to one of the passengers, Carolyn was doing the same with one the others if he was right, and neither of them were paying the pilots any attention. "You said... 'again'. Was that what you meant? I reminded you of someone?"

It seemed to take Douglas forever to reply. And in the time before he did, they'd radioed Carl at Fitton airport and received an estimated ten minute wait until the runway was free, because some private jet was taking off and had priority.

Martin sighed as he realised that he probably _wasn't_ going to get an answer, and that- well. While it didn't make him angry, per se, because it _was_ Douglas' choice to say anything on the matter, and could well be some kind of private issue as far as Martin was concerned, it was certainly frustrating. Not to mention disappointing, as after all he'd been through the least he could get in return would be a straight _answer_, he wasn't asking for much, even. Just... for life to make sense again.

"It'd be easy if I said yes," Douglas mused, the first words the first officer had said that weren't to do with flying the plane. "But it isn't. I'll give you a 'sort of' and owe you one."

Martin raised an eyebrow, taken aback.

"That's two you owe me now," he said as they readied for landing. Martin was in control, but didn't pretend to be completely unaware of the fact that Douglas was watching his every move. "First the cheese tray, now this."

"Just make sure you land us properly and maybe I'll agree to talk it over once we're not in the air."

Douglas got a sidelong glance for that, Martin's suspicions not letting him take that 'maybe' for granted. Not to mention, his landings weren't the best, either. And Douglas was famous for using any excuse available to get out of doing anything he didn't want to do.

Douglas rolled his eyes.

"All right, I give you my word. Scout's honour."

"Douglas."

"I'm serious, really."

"_Douglas_..."

The landing went about as well as any that Martin was in control of. Two of the passengers complained about the turbulence despite there being no such thing, and were largely ignored, as usual.

... ... ...

AN: Uh. Well.

Let's start off with, this has been the hardest thing to write in a very long time. Due to content, and awkward conversations, and conversations that didn't always go where I meant them to.

When it came to the latter part of the chapter, I tried to go for subtle. They're both dealing with it in their own way, and – aside from the fact that there are other matters in hand here than what has already been revealed – they are in a professional environment. And Carolyn and Arthur are _right there_.


End file.
